Every morning, Koko goes to Dad's room and sits by his bed, watching him. He stays there until Dad wakes up. Only after Dad gets up does Koko come out. Honestly, Koko is incredibly loyal, just like a human. πΆ
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Every single morning, without fail, Koko quietly pads his way down the hall and into Dad’s room. It's become part of his daily ritual—his silent vigil of love and loyalty. He doesn’t bark, he doesn’t play—he just sits, right by the bed, his eyes fixed on Dad, as if waiting to make sure he’s okay. There’s a calm in his presence, almost like he knows that Dad is fragile now, and that his quiet company means more than any words ever could.
Koko waits patiently, often for hours, until Dad begins to stir. Only when Dad finally sits up, opens his eyes, or begins his slow routine of getting ready for the day does Koko rise and stretch. Then, and only then, does he come out of the room, as if his job has been completed: Dad’s awake. Dad’s safe. My watch is over—for now.
There’s something so deeply touching in that kind of loyalty. It’s more than just habit—it’s devotion. He seems to understand that Dad needs him, even if he can’t say it out loud. And in a way, we need Koko too. He brings comfort, protection, and a kind of emotional companionship that only a dog can offer. Honestly, Koko is incredibly loyal—just like a human. πΆπ€π¨π¦
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